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 Canadian Male

Plastic Bag


Forever is lasting forever.
Long shallow trips into
                     the curve of concentration
which reveals
                                naked wires.
Out of body nothing.

I collect my toys and go home.
I am not playing with you any-more.

Leave me alone, don't talk to me.

I am the shadow that hurts you in the light.
I am the pain that calls you from the mind.

Sweating worry builds
                         until it
gathers the morons for another
                                           chance at salvation.

At redemption.
At unfilled judgements
                                             dreadful in expiry.

I will fall into the gloom and shatter every
                                    picture I encounter.

Yesterday a shape emerged
                                 from the debris of animation.

And it called out to me.
I answered in monotones of disgust.

I will not play this game any-more.
Of cleaning the house and shipping out
images of a life I am supposed to be
                                                                     having

It is death, you see,
these traps that have been set for me.

Once I spoke in terms of being me.
Yet, the demented voices demanded that
                                     to conform one must submerge.

Be emptied.
Be shallow.

"How are you?"

"Well I am fine"

Please, no more empty stupid phrases that
                                                             collect like weeds.

Clogging hope.
Dampening ambition.

Play along.

Stand still and let the waves of iron
                                  sponge across your sentiments.

Enclose you.
Trap your hope.

Die a death that denies a coffin.

I rip open the plastic bag
that has been wrapped around me.







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